


as though struck by a thunderbolt

by dragonyfox



Series: Friends of Liber (mob au) [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, god enj is so hard to write i hate him, no i dont i love him hes such a dork, technically this is pre-exr, yes r gets shot but it was just a graze dont panic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6378235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonyfox/pseuds/dragonyfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh. Enjolras was struck with the realization that Grantaire didn’t just believe in him, Grantaire loved him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as though struck by a thunderbolt

“So you’re not going to believe what I heard from ‘Sous today,” Montparnasse said.

Enjolras looked up at him and frowned. “How did you get in here? This is a students-only library.”

Montparnasse waved his concerns away. “Sous came and found me today, and they said that they were thinking about joining the Friends of Liber, since Patron-Minette’s crumbling under Babet’s shitty leadership. Can you believe it? I’m so proud of you lot, like a mama bird watching her babies fly the nest.”

“This is not the place to talk about this,” Enjolras said. “We’ll discuss it at the meeting tonight. Now, leave, I’m studying.”

“If you insist, Apollo!”

Enjolras scowled. He was still unhappy that everyone’s codenames were that of Greek gods. It was Grantaire’s fault, of course. He’d suggested that codenames would be needed, and then declared that Enjolras would be Apollo. No amount of arguing would dissuade him or the rest of their friends, and before he knew it, all of them had claimed codenames in a similar vein.

“Leave,” Enjolras repeated.

Montparnasse put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’m going, fuck. Just thought you might appreciate the warning, that’s all.”

Enjolras looked up sharply. “Warning?”

“Now you wanna talk?” Montparnasse teased. “Yeah, it’s just that if ‘Sous is thinking about joining you lot, then that means the Friends are starting to get a decent reputation. Someone’s probably going to send someone for your head sooner or later. Not Babet, he knows that if he hurts Jehan, I’ll hurt him, and that extends to Jehan’s friends.”

His blood went cold. “Am I in immediate danger?”

Montparnasse shrugged. “Probably? I wouldn’t be surprised if you already have a price on your head. I can stick around if that’ll make you feel better.”

Enjolras didn’t want to ask, but he felt that the bruise to his pride was an acceptable exchange for avoiding a potential death. He waved at the seat across from him.

“Sit,” he ordered. “Please be quiet, this is a library. I’ll be finished in an hour, and we will go straight to the Musain from there.”

“Sure thing, Apollo.” Montparnasse took the offered seat, dug a pair of tangled headphones from his pocket, and set about playing a game on his phone. 

Enjolras had a hard time focusing for the rest of an hour. He knew that starting a mob would be dangerous, but he hadn’t quite realized that he, as the leader, would be targeted. In hindsight, it was rather obvious, but it just hadn’t occurred to him until Montparnasse had said something.

.

The meeting dragged on. Enjolras knew he was distracted, and he knew his friends could tell he was distracted. But he couldn’t stop thinking about the danger he had placed his friends in. During a lapse in discussion, he sent a mass text to his friends- the Friends of Liber- that they were to go to his apartment after the meeting.

Once they were settled on his couch, and he’d double checked the lock on his door, he stood in front of his TV and apologized: “It has been brought to my attention that we’re getting attention from the rest of the underworld. I didn’t quite realize the danger I placed everyone in, including myself.”

“Of course we’re in danger, Apollo,” Grantaire said from the floor, “we’re literally a mob. And an activist group. People hate us for about ninety percent of the shit we do, so we’re always in danger.”

“Montparnasse thinks there could already be a price on my head.”

There was a collective intake of breath.

“Hey, whoa,” Montparnasse protested, “It’s not nearly that bad. I’ve got prices on my head, and I’m still here. Relax. If anyone actually goes after you, they’ll sent the shitty hitmen, and a wet noodle could take most of those fuckers out. You’ll be fine!”

“What happens when one of those shitty hitmen gets lucky?” Enjolras demanded. “What happens when we take out the shitty hitmen and they send better ones? I believe in the cause, but I would rather live to see its end, thank you.”

“Alright, then set up a protective detail,” Montparnasse said with a shrug.

“I don’t think that’s quite necessary,” Enjolras protested. “I just wanted to update everyone on our situation, I wasn’t asking for a bodyguard-”

“Shut up,” Courfeyrac and Combeferre said together.

“I’ll do it,” Grantaire offered at the same moment, “I’m still jobless and living on Joly and Bossuet’s couch. I have a few online commissions, but I can do that from my laptop.”

Enjolras looked down at him. Grantaire had taken a seat on the rug, just an arm’s reach from Enjolras’ feet. He was picking at his ratty shoes, and didn’t meet Enjolras’ eyes for a long moment.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asked, giving up on arguing against his friends.

Grantaire smiled tightly. “Don’t worry, I’ve cut back on the drinking, so I won’t interrupt your classes. And you’ve seen me in fights, I can absolutely protect you and your absurdly pretty hair, Apollo.”

“I don’t doubt your skill,” Enjolras interrupted. “I just don’t want you to offer if you don’t actually want to.”

“I do want to.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Then it’s settled.”

From there, it was decided that everyone was going to use the buddy system. Nobody went anywhere without at least one other person. Bahorel, Grantaire, and Montparnasse were exceptions, as they were all capable of defending themselves easily. Not that Grantaire was ever going to leave Enjolras’ side now that he had permission to stick there like glue.

.

Grantaire did stick to Enjolras’ side like glue. One of his teachers insisted that Grantaire sit in the hall, but other than that there were no complaints. Enjolras put up with his paranoid hovering without protest, and Grantaire did his best to be quiet when Enjolras was busy.

The best part about their new arrangement was that he got to argue with Enjolras all the time now.

The worst part was moving his single suitcase of stuff into Enjolras’ apartment and living on his couch and sleeping less than twenty feet away from Enjolras.

“You sure you don’t mind me living on your couch?” Grantaire asked again while he was tucking his suitcase under said couch. “I mean, I don’t drink nearly as much as I used to so you don’t have to worry about that, and I have a drop cloth for if I paint, but Joly assures me I’m a wonderfully obnoxious roommate-”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras insisted. “And anyway, it’s easier to do this whole protection detail thing if you’re always nearby, right?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Well, yeah, but you weren’t exactly eager to have a bodyguard, and I know I drive you nuts.”

Enjolras snorted. “You do, but our debates are rather fun, so I don’t mind.”

“Oh.” Grantaire’s guts did a stupid swoop-y thing, and he stamped down on that feeling immediately. “Well shit. You know I’m going to be even more annoying now because you said that, right?”

To Grantaire’s surprise, Enjolras laughed. “I’m sure I can handle it. Anyway, come on, Ferre wants me to go over this week’s ‘events’. We’re stopping for dinner on the way, though. Any preference?”

“I rather like Chinese food,” Grantaire replied faintly. He was so fucked.

“Chinese food it is, then.”

.

Grantaire couldn’t care less about inner workings of the Friends of Liber. Then again, he didn’t care about a lot of things. He was here for his friends, and for Enjolras.

Still, he stayed mostly quiet during the meeting, only popping off a few snarky comments or responding when spoken to.

He was still mostly quiet on the walk back to Enjolras’ apartment, but that was more due to heightened awareness and fear and the very heavy weight of the gun Montparnasse had slipped him during the meeting.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to use a gun. That had been one of the first things Montparnasse had made sure all of them knew. He was even pretty decent with it, if the grouping on his targets was anything to go by. It was just that he’d never carried one, ever, let alone in public, and he was a little worried that a cop would come out of nowhere and arrest him for carrying without a permit.

“So, you’re the leader of that silly up and coming mob,” a voice drawled from the shadows. “Apollo, wasn’t it?”

Enjolras and Grantaire both stopped dead in their tracks.

“That’s me,” Enjolras said, wary. “Who are you?”

“Bamatabois,” the voice replied, “since it won’t matter if you know, since you’ll be dead soon.”

“If we’re going to be dead soon, then the least you can do is show us your face, sir,” Grantaire called out, using his most sarcastic tone even as his heart was thumping like a rabbit’s.

“Oh, I suppose,” Bamatabois said, and stepped from the shadows.

He was holding a gun. Grantaire was going to have to pull this off perfectly, or one or both of them were going to get shot and die, and Enjolras dying was completely unacceptable.

Grantaire took a step forward, shoving Enjolras behind him.

Bamatabois, instead of shooting him, laughed. “What, are you going to fight me to protect your boyfriend? Sorry, boy, but he’s got a number on his head and I aim to collect.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be possible,” Grantaire said.

He pulled his gun from the waistband of his pants. He wasn’t quite quick enough to get off a first shot, but he was moving as he pulled the gun, so Bamatabois’ shot only winged his shoulder.

Grantaire’s shot was perfectly aimed, and went through Bamatabois’ skull directly between his eyes.

.

When Grantaire shoved him, Enjolras hadn’t been expecting it, and he ended up tumbling to the ground. He watched the scene play out in front of him, horrified. Not because Grantaire had shot a man, but that Grantaire had taken a bullet and then shot a man. For him. For Enjolras.

Enjolras knew that Grantaire didn’t really believe in the cause. But he knew that Grantaire kept coming around, and he knew Grantaire said he believed in nothing, and he knew that Grantaire joked about believing in Enjolras.

Only, now, sitting on hard concrete and watching blood pool on the ground, did Enjolras realize that Grantaire had not, in fact, been joking when he said he believed in Enjolras.

“Are you alright?” Grantaire asked. “I didn’t mean to shove you so hard, I just wanted you out of the way.”

“I’m fine,” Enjolras replied. “Are you alright? We’re bringing you to Joly’s right away, you’re bleeding.”

“If you insist,” Grantaire said, and held his hand out to him.

Enjolras clasped his hand, grinning.

.

The walk to Joly’s was quick, though their stay there lasted nearly an hour, since Joly yelled at Grantaire after patching him up about taking better safety precautions and not getting shot and then lectured about how to take care of the wound and also insisted that he allow Joly to check it every day.

But finally, they were able to return to Enjolras’ apartment.

“I’m exhausted,” Grantaire huffed. “Scream if someone breaks in, and I’ll wake up, but I’m going to sleep now.”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight after you just got shot protecting me,” Enjolras protested.

“Where am I supposed to sleep then?” Grantaire asked, scowling.

“My-“ Enjolras hesitated a moment, but continued on, “My bed. With me.”

Grantaire stared at him, slack-jawed.

Enjolras hurried to add, “This isn’t a proposition; I wouldn’t do that after you’ve been shot, but a real bed has to be more comfortable than a couch. I sleep like the dead, so there’s no worry of me accidentally hitting your wound in the night.”

“I’m not stupid enough to say no,” Grantaire said after a long moment. “A bed sounds incredibly nice. Yeah, I’ll sleep with you, Apollo.”

Enjolras flushed, but led Grantaire to his room.

“Is it alright with you if I sleep in a t-shirt and boxers?” Grantaire asked, hesitantly.

“That’s fine,” Enjolras said. “I don’t sleep with a shirt on, but I wear pajama pants, is that alright?”

“That’s fine,” Grantaire replied faintly.

Oh. Enjolras was struck with the realization that Grantaire didn’t just believe in him, Grantaire loved him. Or at the very least had a crush, but generally one doesn’t take a bullet for their crush. And, as Enjolras thought back to some of the things their friends had said, this has been a thing for a while.

Enjolras felt rather stupid. All this time, he’d been ignoring his crush on Grantaire, thinking that Grantaire wouldn’t feel the same. He never believed that ‘pig-tail pulling’ was a real thing, and he hadn’t interpreted all of Grantaire’s teasing as grabs for attention.

He flipped the light out and climbed in after Grantaire, deciding to just tell him.

“R, I have something to-”

A loud snore interrupted him.

“-tell you.” Enjolras sighed. “Of course.”

He’d tell him in the morning, Enjolras decided. He curled up against Grantaire, being careful to not jostle his wound, and slung an arm over Grantaire’s belly. He was affectionate with all his friends, and would likely think that Enjolras curled up with him in his sleep anyway.


End file.
